Five Words
by LunarFlare14
Summary: John Watson -and the greater part of the United Kingdom- take a stance. The movement begins.
1. Chapter 1

He didn't know at first. The news came and Molly comforted him in the hospital waiting room, giving him a small smile. Wasn't she supposed to be in love with him? Wasn't she supposed to be grieving like him?

He didn't cry until he got home. Being in Baker Street, surrounded by his things, all John could think to do was curl up in his bed and cry. However, Sherlock's bed was closer and smelled like him- tobacco and soap. John's soap actually, since Sherlock was always nicking his. He grabbed the rarely used pillow and just laid there for days, even after the tears ran out.

Mrs. Hudson tried, after day two and he hadn't come down for tea or really anything of substance. "Johnny, love? Do you… Do you need anything?"

John got up and opened the door, "I need a tall man with an incredible knack for being an ass, a ridiculously high IQ and incredible cheekbones. Unless you can get me one I would ask you to kindly let me be." He needed him. He needed his name called from the sitting room, he need to hear the beep of his text. He needed beyond all things that stupid wonderful man.

He had never loved someone so completely and naturally as he loved Sherlock.

Love in the curious case of Sherlock and John, being somewhere between the realms of comrade, brother, and soul mate.

Mrs. Hudson looked taken aback but nodded, retreating down the stairs. John didn't move from the door. He needed to get out of this place. He needed to leave Baker Street and never come back.

One of Sherlock's scarves hung on the back of the door. He took it, shut the door and left, not looking back. He walked to the tube station, took the train and ended up at Harriet's around one in the morning. She opened the door and saw the look on his face, "John, are you alright?"

No, no he was not alright. His best friend had jumped off a building and he watched and his best friend was dead but he was still alive. He had never felt so alone. Not even before Sherlock. God he was anything but alright he was…

"I loved Sherlock Holmes but he's dead now." That last bit came out as a squeak more than a sentence.

Harriet's face went from confused to shock in a little less than a second. "What?"

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Don't make me say it again."

She didn't, instead she ushered him into her flat and let him sit there for hours. This was probably the first time he had ever really needed his sister.

John told her everything in the morning when her sister's girlfriend woke up. He just kept going on and on about how Moriarty was playing Sherlock, how he had snatched John from him, how they played Hansel and Gretel, how the little girl had screamed. They all thought he was a fraud, Sherlock had even told him so. Then he had jumped off a building and smashed his head open.

"Last night you said you were in love with him." She held his gaze and he wished he could just run and hide away in Sherlock's room again. But facing the cold empty flat back on Baker Street had him planted firmly where he was.

"I didn't say that. I said I loved him. I know how I am, Harriet. I know that I womanize and flirt but- I don't know. Sherlock was always priority; Sherlock was the one I really wanted to be around. I was so alone and then he… Hit me like a whirlwind and it was ups and downs and he was the most insufferable prat sometimes. Women come and go but he-... He was the best thing to ever happen to me."

"That's the way love is; stupid and crazy and brilliant all at once."

John laughed for the first time since it had happened, a bitter short laugh. He didn't think he would ever find a place on his own again. It would be too quiet. "Crazy thing? I thought I saw him on the Tube here. I knew it couldn't be him but I had hoped it was. Lost the bloke in the crowd." He felt tears coming up again and he wiped them away.

"What if it is true?"

"I don't know what I'll do. But it isn't. I know it in my heart."

Harriet sighed, going to the table, "It was all over the news this morning again. Surprised they didn't try and get a quote out of you."

John scowled, "Enough of Sherlock's personal life is out in the open."

"It seems he actually has quite the following. A whole movement even." She flipped the paper around and handed it to him. The headline read _Sherlock Defended_. A picture of Lestrade screaming at Donovan was captioned with something about them arguing. "Turns out Sherlock had at least one friend in Scotland Yard. They'll be waiting on you for the verdict."

"I know Richard Brooks is a lie, but who is going to believe me? Moriarty deleted his own existence."

Harriet grabbed her laptop and opened it. After some clicks she sat it in his lap.

The Personal Blog of John H. Watson.

The counter had started going up again. It was at nearly fifty thousand.

"They want your answer." Harry left the room and John sighed.

He didn't ask for this. He wanted to hide away and grieve. All these people wanted answers, just like he did. He wanted to know why Sherlock jumped, why anyone believed Moriarty's lies. Why why why why?

Did it really matter though? Those things happened and there was nothing he could do about it.

He didn't want to believe Sherlock was dead. He couldn't believe Sherlock was a fraud. He had faith in Sherlock. He'd keep his entry simple as he always did:

I Believe In Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

It started out small enough. A whisper on the lips of a passerby who probably recognized him, muttering something he could barely hear.

He had been living with Harriet for a week when it began to surface. Walking out one morning, he stood at the corner waiting for the light when he looked up. Something passed over head and he looked up. It was a helicopter flying off to who knew where, but when his eyes came back down they landed on the pole next to him. A plain white piece of paper at eye level read- in plain stenciled black letters-

Believe in Sherlock Holmes.

John stood there as the signal changed to go and back to stop.

A grin suddenly broke out on his face and he laughed. Someone was adorable, printing it out and posting it; one lone person, probably wandering the streets with their flyers. This first one was labeled by his mind as cute and he walked on, not giving it anymore thought.

Then he was getting on the tube to go out with Stamford and he saw it spray painted across the wall of the station. It came in all sorts of shapes and colors, showing up everywhere from billboards to bathroom stalls.

James Moriarty was real,

Richard Brook is a fake,

Believe in Sherlock.

John was staring at one that was painted on the side of a two story building, never had he seen anything more beautiful. It had Sherlock's hat hanging from the B in believe. It was really a work of art and the calligraphy was astounding. Big capital letters showed the world: I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES. The world was not as stupid as Sherlock wanted to believe.

"They're calling it John Watson's War."

John jumped, turning to find the elder Holmes brother skulking out of the darkness. He regained his calm and looked back up at it. He laughed a bit then, "Moriarty planted the seed of doubt. I was just doing the same."

Mycroft sighed. "There was no proof beyond the story. No way of knowing if he was true or not." The older man looked up at the building, "Except for those of us who know better."

"And a supposed professional said I had trust issues." John turned to Mycroft fully, shaking his head. "I suppose me and him were alike. I never had someone worth trusting, he never had someone worth caring about." The ice in his stare did not go unnoticed.

Mycroft leaned a bit more on his umbrella. "I've been trying my best to defend him."

"It's a bit late to start that. Better late than never, though." John pulled out a can of spray paint he had been hiding in his coat. Shaking it quickly, he added his initials to the work that towered above them. Mycroft gapped at him.

"It's my seal of approval. More keep cropping up and I just can't get to them all." John held the can out to Mycroft. He scowled but John didn't falter. "Least you could do."

Mycroft sighed, grabbing the can and adding a quick MH to the lettering. "There." He looked up at the building again. "I believe in my brother. I always have… He was always the better man." When John just stared at him Mycroft turned away. "I was ambitious; he just wanted to help find the truth. After a while though, helping became meddling and when everyone around you calls you a freak-"

"You start to believe it." John took his can back.

"I did love my brother, John. I failed him. But I have faith that you and your warriors will bring him justice." With that Mycroft walked down the street toward the corner. John looked back up at the building still in awe. People believed in Sherlock. Maybe, just maybe, he could believe a little longer that he would come back.


End file.
